Fooling Yourself
by Shimmerwings
Summary: Slash. Modern. Captain Frank Kelly's son isn't queer.


**Fooling Yourself**

**Chapter One.**  

Notes:  Gah!  I'm sorry I haven't updated in forever and then came out with this sleep-deprived bit of utter insanity which I like to call my crack-fic.  Forgive me.  *snivels*

Modern day, slash

"You see the world through your cynical eyes  
You're a troubled young man I can tell  
You've got it all in the palm of your hand  
But your hand's wet with sweat and your head needs a rest"

--Fooling Yourself, Styx

***

The summer after he turned fourteen, Jack Kelly's father found him with Joey Stilton, with Jack's pants around his ankles and Joey down on his knees on the hardwood floor of Jack's bedroom.  

Frances Kelly, a Desert Storm veteran and Cop of the Year for the third year running in Precinct 217, turned white to the lips and ordered Joey out of the apartment in his sternest drill sergeant voice.  Jack watched in mortification and shock as Joey clambered to his feet and stumbled out of apartment number 436.  A distant part of his brain registered the dust brushed like cobwebs across the knees of Joey's Levis and realized that he really needed to clean his room more often, before he turned his red-stained face to his father and rucked up his own jeans self-consciously.

Jack never saw Joey Stilton again, outside of classes.

Captain Frank Kelly considered himself a simple man.  He'd passed high school with decent grades and gone on to state college to do the same.  He wasn't the brainiest kid—that was reserved for his older brother, Steve, who had gone to Harvard—so he had been relieved to receive a football scholarship.  Wasn't brilliant at that, either, but he was a solid enough player to pay his way through four years of higher education and then he went straight into the police academy.  Like his father had before him.  Like he wanted his son to do after him.  He had served his country.  He worked hard to keep the scum that populated the streets of New York City behind bars where it belonged.  He drank Bud and watched football on the tube, when he had a day off.  He cheered for the Mets, may the Yankees rot their balls off. Had a wife, though she died after only a few years of marriage, and a son he managed to raise on his own.  
He was a good man. He only had vague notions of All-American men and masculinity, but he supposed he fit the bill.  
Raising his son to be a queer was _not_ what he thought of when he thought of his duty as father and American citizen, so when he saw his son and one of the kids his son had been going to school with for years, together, in the Biblical sense, his first thought was relief that Jack had been on the receiving end.  He didn't know much about queers, but it seemed to him that giving blow jobs made that Joey kid more of a pansy than Jack.  He could convince himself that maybe Jack was just desperate and horny, like kids his age tended to be.  That he wasn't getting out enough.  Simple explanations.

His second thought was to cover this fast and make sure it didn't happen in the future. 

As his only child buttoned his pants and straightened out his shirt with nervous tugs, Frank tried to remember if he'd ever given him the talk.  _The Talk.  The one where he told his son that those dreams he was having were okay, that he had to use protection when he got with any of those girls he was starting to notice, that men only kissed women and never their male childhood friends.  He remembered that he had, back when Jonathon Michael Kelly had been a skinny twelve-year-old with ears half too big for his head and limbs half too long for his body.  Now Jack had grown into his ears and limbs, was turning out to be a handsome young man, but it seemed that the part about not kissing boys had been skipped in the lecture, or forgotten. _

Well, Frank Kelly would never let it be said he shirked his duties as a father; he'd just have to give the talk again.

Jack watched with trepidation as his father straightened into correct army and police academy posture, back straight, shoulders up, arms behind his back.  He recognized the position as his father in lecture mode and felt his own back stiffening into the stance of a cadet about to receive a rebuke.  Almost unconsciously, his feet shuffled to shoulder width and he struggled to settle his face into a composed and solemn expression.

"Son," his dad barked.  "Now, I know it's difficult at your age to control these urges that you get.  However, it is not, and will never be, appropriate to satisfy these urges with another boy.  No matter how desperate you are.  Am I understood?"

Jack was startled.  He had been expecting recriminations and instead he was being offered . . . an excuse?  The way he had stressed the word "desperate" . . .   He managed a shaky "Yes, sir." 

Hid dad's stance relaxed and seemed almost relieved.  "That's good, son.  Good to hear."  He settled his eyes on Jack's face and seemed to come to a decision.  "You should have come to me if you were getting desperate enough to resort to this.  I could have set you up with a pretty young girl.  Someone more . . . natural."

Unsure of where this was going, Jack could only nod.

"In fact," his dad continued, "one of my pals at the department has a girl your age.  Lives down the hall.  Helen, Heidi, something like that.  I'll get him to talk to her for you, set you up on a date.  It'll be good for you."

Helen Deidecker.  Jack knew her.  He'd seen her around, usually giggling with a group of friends on the steps of the building.  She was what Joey's mom had called a heartbreak waiting to happen.  Jack felt a pang at the thought of poor Joey, driven out with his knees dusty.

He didn't have the words to tell his dad that Helen Deidecker's perky pushed-up breasts and too-short skirts held no interest for him, that he'd rather have Joey's fingers holding his hips in place.

********

Two days later, Frank Kelly saw his son out the door on a date with Helen Deidecker.  The pocket of Jack's denim jacket burned with the money his father had folded into his hand earlier that evening, and the Trojan he had been slipped with a wink.

Helen was wearing a pink halter top and a black pleather miniskirt.  Her lips were coated with what looked like a layer of pink lacquer.  She winked at him and swayed her hips when she walked in front of him.

Jack came home past his curfew, pocket relieved of both cash and condom, and crawled into bed.  Frank, who had stayed discretely in his bedroom when Jack returned, smiled in relief and quickly fell asleep.  He patted Jack on the back the next morning and went off to work with a light heart, sure that he had saved his son's masculinity.

********

The year Jack turned seventeen was the year that Frank decided to host an exchange student, and was the year that he walked in on Jack with his ass in the air and Emilio Tuscani, lately of Italy, doing interesting things with his fingers.

Frank's shout made the people in the apartment downstairs bang on the ceiling with a broom handle.

Emilio was sent packing that same evening.  Frank called the agency, complained that his son was being corrupted by "damned foreign influence" and demanded that they place him in a new home.  

Jack, who couldn't decide whether to be more embarrassed or angry, glared at his father from across the room and muttered that maybe if he had a lock that _worked_ on his door, none of this would have happened.  In the end, though, he remembered Helen Deidecker and the Trojan, and settled for watching silently as Emilio walked out the door, suitcases in hand.  And if, for a moment, Emilio's broad and handsomely clad back seemed to be the skinny shoulders and dingy t-shirt of Joey Stilton running from the room, he kept that to himself.

Frank was shocked by what he had seen.  His son had a girlfriend, one of the most popular girls in the school.  He'd had many girlfriends, ever since Helen.  He did well in school.  He played _sports, goddammit.  There was no way that Captain Frank Kelly's son was a queer.  It had to have been that damn foreign exchange student's idea.  Everyone knew what the Romans had got up to, never mind that Emilio was from Florence._

He paced and ranted for hours that night.  Jack sat in a chair at the small kitchen table and watched him, remembering the way it had felt to slip into each of the girls he dated, always with one of the Trojans his dad kept carefully stocked in the bathroom cabinet.  So different than what he had been doing with Emilio.  He wondered what was wrong with him, that he wanted what his dad was saying was unnatural, what guys at school could get beat up for.  He decided that maybe he wasn't trying hard enough and resolved to make a better effort to be what his dad wanted.

So when his dad asked him to promise never to do something like that again, he had no problem saying yes.

*******

When Jack started college the next year, he had given up steady dating and had started a continual stream of girls-of-the-week.  It was easier in college, especially with the fraternity he joined.  There was an almost endless flow of girls who just wanted a single night or a whirlwind romance that ended after a few days.  Jack was fine with that.  There were even some girls that he liked a lot and sex with them was pleasant and fun.  Those ones lasted maybe longer than a week before he had to move on.

He discovered that he was good at what he did.  He was charming and smooth words came easily to his lips when he needed them.  His frat brothers had endless praise for his skill, his classes were easy, and his father was proud of him.  He was proud of himself and the occasional dream of Joey Stilton's warm mouth, or the occasional speculation about where Emilio Tuscani was, didn't mar his precarious happiness.

*******

He met Sarah Jacobs the first day of Film Appreciation 101, his second semester.  He spotted her heavy brown hair and shapely body across the room and made it a point to slip into the seat beside her a few minutes before class began.

"Hey," he said, smiling and holding out his hand.  He sensed that she would respond better to a more polite approach.  When she smiled back, coyly, and took his hand, Jack knew he wouldn't have any problems with this girl.  "I'm Jack Kelly."

"Sarah Jacobs," she responded, leaning towards him.

Jack bit back a grin and continued making small talk, while subtly flirting.  By the time class started, he already had her cell number and tentative plans for the next night.  

*******

That night he called her to get directions to pick her up the next evening.

*******

It turned out that Sarah lived at home with her family, while attending college on campus.  Jack turned into their driveway and was amused to see a refrigerator box abandoned in the front yard, "Lemonade 10 Cents" scrawled across the side.  It was obvious she had younger siblings.

He walked to the front door and was greeted by loud barking.

"Sam, shut up!" said Sarah's voice from inside.  The barking diminished, but didn't subside completely.  Jack couldn't stop the grin that leapt to his face when she opened the door and a chocolate lab jumped up and put dirty paws on his new shirt.

"Hey, boy," he laughed, waving off Sarah's horrified apologies.  "It's okay, I love dogs."

"Still, you should come in and wash up real quick," she said, taking his hand and drawing him inside.  "Bad dog," she said sternly, and for an absurd moment Jack thought she was talking to him.  Then he realized what she meant and burst into laughter.  He ruffled Sam's fur affectionately, earning himself a wet, slobbered hand.  Jack pulled back his hand, shaking his head in bemusement.  This wasn't how he had imagined the start to the evening, but at least it was a change of pace.

"Bathroom's down the hall, second door on the right.  Just go on ahead while I drag this slobbering mutt out back," Sarah told him.  

Jack watched the uneven struggle for a moment, before heading hesitantly down the hallway and into the bathroom.  He quickly located a washcloth and dabbed at the muddy prints on his shirt.  They'd come out, but it would leave the shirt damp and wrinkled.  So much for the sexily sophisticated look he had going.

Doggy drool aside, Jack was thinking maybe Sarah would be one of the girls who would last longer than a week.  He hadn't known her that long, but she seemed sweet and anyone who owned a dog like that couldn't be half bad.  He finished up quickly, wiping his hands dry on a clean towel, and stepped into the hallway.

He ran into ridiculous figure in a white scientist's coat and huge lab goggles.  Jack staggered.

"Oh, sorry!" the figure yelped, reaching out to help steady him.  "It's these stupid goggles.  Didn't even see you there."  He lifted the oversized goggles, revealing astonishingly clear blue eyes.  

Jack caught himself staring and tore his gaze away, hoping he wasn't blushing.  "Uh," he stated intelligently.  He groped for something to say, but Sarah showed up before he came up with anything.

"David," she said sharply.  "You better not be bugging my date."

"No," Jack spoke up, relieved to find words again.  "He wasn't bothering me."  He turned to smile at Sarah.  "I was just about to introduce myself."  For some reason Jack couldn't fathom, Sarah looked suspicious, but Jack shrugged it off.  He turned back to David and held out his hand.  "Jack Kelly."

David shook his hand and Jack noticed that he seemed vaguely familiar.  "I'm—"

"David.  Yeah, I heard," Jack said with a grin.

Sarah stepped closer to Jack and slipped her arm through his.  "Don't you have to go help Les finish his project?" she said dismissively to David.

Jack noticed a flicker of irritation in his eyes, before he nodded and slipped the goggles back into place.  "Yeah, if I don't get back he's likely to try to blow something up.  Or glue himself to something.  It's hard to say which."  He paused before turning.  "It was nice to meet you, Jack."

"You, too," Jack said, letting Sarah pull him toward the front door.  He looked at the girl by his side, banishing any thoughts of her brother.  "You look great," he murmured.  It was the right thing to say.  Sarah beamed up at him and Jack readied himself for the evening ahead.

*******

Over dinner, Jack found it impossible not to bring up the topic of her family.  "So exactly how many siblings _do_  you have?" he asked.

Only the two," she answered.  "David and Les are both younger than me.  David just started college here this year and Les is in middle school."

I don't have any brothers or sisters," Jack said and the conversation wandered away from that topic.

Later that evening, he slipped it into their conversation again, telling himself it was her entire family he was interested in.  Not just a certain member.  "What was with the . . . "his hands made motions to indicate goggles and a lab coat, "that your brother was wearing?"

Sarah snorted derisively.  "He got suckered into helping Les out with his science project because he's better at chemistry than I was.  Les insists they both wear that stuff."  Then she quickly changed the subject and Jack let it go for the moment.

"This is really bugging me, but . . . David seems really familiar for some reason," Jack tried again.  "For some reason, I keep thinking of coffee in conjunction with him."

Frowning slightly, Sarah rolled her eyes.  "You've got that right.  He's addicted to the stuff.  Works in that little coffee shop on campus part time."

That's _right_!"  Jack slapped the table, excited for reasons he wouldn't name.  "I knew I'd seen him before, without the weird get-up.  I visit that shop all the time, and I've seen him once in a while."

"Right," Sarah said shortly, then moved her hand up Jack's thigh.  After that, they went back to Jack's room and there was no more mention of her family at all.

********

That night Jack dreamt of brown hair and a slow smile.  When he woke up, he told himself it was Sarah.  That the eyes had been brown instead of blue. 


End file.
